Columnist and minor league pitcher Dirk Hayhurst finds himself a tycoon of the bullpen.

Dirk Hayhurst

It’s a well-documented fact that playing professional baseball in large, unsupervised doses can make you stupid.

It should come with a warning: Prolonged use of this sport has been known to cause extreme stupidity. Use only under medical supervision.

It’s not that baseball players are naturally dumb — quite the opposite, really. It is just that this game can make you so.

For example: As a pitcher, I don’t need to count higher then four, and even then, my catcher is putting down fingers for me. The honest reason for this loss of brain cells is because baseball is a shelter from the real world.

Many of us pros have degrees, but we don’t use a fraction of the stuff college taught us while playing this sport.

Baseball is not rocket science. Or in my case, it’s not communication studies.

I’ve had many coaches tell me to stop thinking so much or just stop thinking period. Maybe you’ve heard the expression, “Stop thinking, turn off your mind and just do it.” I try not to think, but sometimes, it’s unavoidable.

As a bullpen pitcher, I have an abundance of free time. As a minor league baseball player, I have a shortage of cash flow.

One day in the bullpen, I sat down, turned on my mind and did something dangerous. I started thinking. Thinking about what I could do to solve my cash issue by utilizing my free time. What I needed was a part-time job that I could do from the bullpen.

I was asking a lot.

I am not an economics major, but I know what supply and demand is.

If I had something someone wants, and if they can meet my price, I will meet their demand.

As I had that thought, I could hear the whining, begging and pleading voices of kids circling the bullpen like vultures. Their hungry eyes trained on every stray baseball. They need a baseball. It’s a matter of life and death.

That’s when it hit me: I wonder how much a baseball is worth to these kids?

This is how Quarter Toss was born.

Before you jump to conclusions, let me explain. I wasn’t taking the organization’s baseballs and selling them. Well, not the good ones anyway. I was letting kids have a chance to win a ball at the expense of one quarter per try. Like a carnival game.

Normally, without Quarter Toss, a kid would beg, whine and make up stories about it being his birthday — it’s always their birthdays — in hopes of persuading us to give him a free ball.

We’ll refuse, because if we say yes, every kid in the park, as if by magic, will know someone other than them got a free ball. It’s like they can smell it.

They will march to our bullpen and beg, whine and say it’s their birthday. When we refuse, they barrage us with annoying, paint-pealing screams, saying, “But you gave that other kid one. That’s not fair. Your team sucks.”

Thanks, kid. Have mommy buy you some more sugar.

Here is the same scenario with Quarter Toss: Kid comes down for a free ball, and we say “Sorry, champ. We can’t give you a free ball — but you can win one.”

We have it down to a science. We’re like used car salesmen.

“All you have to do is toss a quarter in this cup, and you win a ball. It’s that easy.”

Here are the rules. Take a paper cup, one you’d see players drinking from, and place it deceptively close to the railing that divides the stands from the field.

Kids may line up anywhere behind the railing to toss quarters. If they miss, we keep the quarter. If they sink it, they pick the ball they want.

Their feet must stay on the ground. No refunds.

Quarter Toss is not my idea. It has been used by many a bored, poor, bullpen entrepreneur prior to the start of my career, and I am sure it will be used long after it’s over.

I’ve been in stadiums where kids line up to toss quarters. Heck, I’ve been in stadiums where adults line up to do it — it’s amazing what Thirsty Thursdays can do to a man.

On average, we make about $20 a game. A team here in the Texas League has made enough from QT to buy couches and a surround sound system for their clubhouse. They are working toward a new big screen.

QT money doesn’t always go toward new toys. Sometimes the team uses the extra capital to help local families or charitable causes — in light of our minor league paychecks, many of the guys insist we are a charitable cause.

Sometimes we use it to tip good bus drivers or clubhouse attendants. I’ve even seen QT money help out fellow players with family medical bills.

Maybe this has inspired you to become an entrepreneur. To strike out into the world of supply and demand and make your dreams come true.

I never thought a simple minor leaguer like me could run my own Quarter Toss business. But here I am, a regular tycoon of bullpen economics.

From every one of us here in the bullpen to everyone out there who has been told to stop thinking or that your job makes you more stupid, just remember: You are never, ever too dumb to take money from, uh ... to teach children the importance of accuracy.

Yeah, that’s it.

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Minor league pitcher Dirk Hayhurst, 26, is a 1999 graduate of Canton (Ohio) South High School. The San Diego Padres selected the right-hander in the eighth round of the 2003 draft out of Kent State University. The 6-foot-3, 200-pound Hayhurst has a 3-0 record with a 3.19 ERA in 20 games with the San Antonio Missions of the Class AA Texas League.